


of hungry ghosts

by ork



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ork/pseuds/ork
Summary: Hera celebrates her promotion to General, with Ahsoka, in a storage closet.-Re-uploaded after deleting account.





	of hungry ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Original title (the siren call of hungry ghosts) is the title of a book on mediums, I was using it as a pun. (The _Ghost_ , eating, you know.) Truncated just in case of lawsuits.

Hera doesn't even make it out of the briefing room before pulling Ahsoka into her arms and kissing her right on the mouth. Ahsoka makes a squeaky little noise in her throat and somehow cups Hera's chin in her hand, so gently, at the same as she whacks the keypad to the shut the door with an elbow. They stumble into the hallway, lips and teeth wet, noses bumping.

Hera's shoulder bangs into the wall and as her head jerks, her tongue leaves a wet dash across Ahsoka's cheek. She pulls back, giggling uncontrollably.

“I think we,” she gasps, “Think we should – closet. Left.”

“Yeah,” says Ahsoka, just as breathless.

Hera paws at the door, as well as she can with Ahsoka's warm breath tickling her lekku, one hand clutching her hip. She drags them inside, clumsy, impatient. The door hisses closed and leaves them in semidarkness. Crates, boxes, drums of Force knows what –

“The boot,” Ahsoka says, “We forgot the boot.”

“Ah, right – ” Hera yanks at one of her boots, bends over with a growl of frustration to fight with the buckles that it won't come undone, caught in her flight suit.

Ahsoka makes a strangled noise from behind her. “Your ass. Your ass looks _so_ good when you do that. Kriff.”

Hera glances up, grins. “You're such a hopeless lesbian.” She's gotten her boots off, still tangled with her flight suit, opens the door long enough to dump the whole mess directly outside and bangs it shut again. The universal Rebel code for “Don't Open – Sex Inside.”

“Yeah, you too,” says Ahsoka, settles her hands on Hera's hips and kisses her neck. Hera shivers in delight, clutching Ahsoka's gorgeous biceps.

“Yeah,” she says, as Ahsoka's tongue finds that soft sensitive spot where her jaw meets her neck, “Sure am. Kriff, that feels – amazing – take off your pants.”

Ahsoka works a hand between them, tugging her leggings down and grinding her knuckles against Hera's crotch as she does so. Hera bucks her hips and whimpers. Face still tucked against her neck, Ahsoka grins. As soon as her leggings are down around her boots, Hera grabs Ahsoka by the hips and pulls her close, grinding against her.

“Hera!” Ahsoka gasps out, head falling back. She undoes Hera's bra one-handed, the motion quick and fluid with years of practise, cupping and kneading Hera's sweaty breasts. She rolls one darker green nipple between her fingers and Hera sighs happily. Ahsoka whines as the air of her breath tickles across her montrals.

“You are so kriffing hot,” Hera says hoarsely. Arousal spikes through her body with the little noises Ahsoka makes, she wants more. Ahsoka kisses her tenderly on the mouth. She kisses back wild and hungry, eagerly, pouring the lust and love she has into the kiss.

“C'mon,” she mumbles against Ahsoka's lips, pushing out her chest, “Use your mouth, kriff –”

Ahsoka breaks the kiss, dips her head and sucks one stiff nipple between her lips. She rubs back and forth with her tongue and Hera's breath catches, back arching in pleasure. The hot little lightning bolts of sensation go shooting downward, right between her legs, she has one of Ahsoka's hard muscled thighs between her own and is frantically rubbing against her.

Ahsoka moves over to the other breast, adding the gentlest little scrape of teeth, and Hera hears an embarrassing crooning noise slip out of her mouth. She clutches at Ahsoka's shoulders as tight as Ahsoka is gentle, one hand on her ass, one kneading her other breast. Her chest is heaving. Kriff, she wants nothing more than to taste her, right kriffing _now._

“Up, up,” she pants, sliding her hands down to the backs of Ahsoka's thighs, lifting her. “I need to eat you out.”

“Oh, kriff, baby,” whispers Ahsoka, eyes huge. “Hera, _General_ Hera Syndulla, I want you, I need you, baby –”

Hera boosts her up onto some big shipping crate that's just conveniently lying there, pulls her thighs, her beautiful shapely thighs over her own shoulders, boots scraping down her back. She stamps a row of kisses down one thigh and hovers over Ahsoka's pussy, breathing deep, hot breath rushing over the sensitive flesh. Ahsoka gives a soft little whimper.

She should probably take off her headgear for this, Hera reflects, but she doesn't want to and she's not going to. If it ends up crumpled and smelling like sex, well, big deal. They have bigger things to worry about.

Hera presses her lips to Ahsoka's clit, spreads her lips with careful fingers and draws her tongue down before pressing it in. Ahsoka jerks, fingers scrabbling on the shipping crate. Flattening her tongue, Hera begins taking long, slow strokes upward, bringing one hand in to slide a couple fingers in. She rubs her fingertips in slow circles on the silky-slick inside, and Ahsoka _keens._

A string of broken nonsense is coming out of her mouth, “Kriff” and “Ah, baby” and “Right there” and best of all, “ _General_ Syndulla”. Hera sucks hard on her clit, reveling in the taste of her. She tastes so kriffing good, tangy and salty and rich, slippery on her chin and between her fingers.

Up above, Ahsoka moans suddenly, thighs tensing. “I'm close,” she gasps out, and Hera sucks harder, speeding up her fingers. A few more strokes and Ahsoka whines and clenches, then breaths out hard.

“Kriff, baby, that was amazing,” she croaks, pulling Hera's face up to kiss her fiercely. She slides off the crate and slumps against it, flushed and heavy-lidded, completely sated and peaceful.

Hera tugs one of her thick muscled thighs between her own legs, licking the taste of her from her lips, desperately turned on. Ahsoka's clever fingers are pinching and rolling her nipples again, and she rolls her hips faster and faster, frantically, until she comes with a choking noise and slumps in Ahsoka's arms.

“Well,” she says, after long minutes of sweaty afterglow. “I probably have a lot of responsibilites I should be taking care of.”

“Yes, off you go, time to be the big important General,” Ahsoka teases. Hera helps her pull her leggings back up, and Ahsoka opens the door just enough to fetch her flight suit and boots for her. She fumbles back into her clothes, fuzzy-headed and deliciously relaxed.

“I really do love you, you know,” Ahsoka says, suddenly serious.

“I know,” Hera replies, a smile cracking open on her face. She squeezes her lover's calloused hand. “I love you too.”


End file.
